Feminism is not dead — it is part of a tradition. The tradition did not start in the 1960s, nor at the turn of the 20th century. It has been around for centuries, and it lives on. I know this because, quite simply, I can feel it. Some people don’t want to call it feminism, and maybe there’s a better name for it. But I haven’t found it yet. Certain works of art and literature have shaped my understanding of what feminism stands for, by bringing into focus what I always knew but somehow ignored. For my last column at Cornell, I’d like to share them with you, in neither chronological nor alphabetical order.

Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech

A highly entertaining story about appreciating the work and love that goes into being a good mom.

“I have another idea for a TV show. It’s called ‘Rape My House.’” A stand-up MC in New York City was warming the audience up for the next act. He was commenting on the strangeness of having an MTV show called “Pimp My Ride.” It is a show for a young audience that gleefully uses the word “pimp” as if it had no association with sexual exploitation. He made a good point, and was funny while he did it. Even though he used “rape” in the joke, it was to underline the seriousness of it. The audience laughed because we compared the gravity of rape to that of pimping and realized that the TV show lets the latter slide, even glamorizes it.

That monolith of a social networking site is due to acquire its 200 millionth user in the next few days, if it hasn’t already. You know which one I mean: Facebook. Although I have resented the site ever since my friends in high school urged me to join it, Facebook is apparently here to stay. It has become more than just a website. Since its creation in 2004, its name has changed from the more humble “thefacebook.com” to a proper noun to be reckoned with. It is an entity nearing nationhood status, a verb and a place.

Last week, as I was whiling away time between classes, I came across a review of the documentary film Examined Life. The title references Socrates, who stated, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” The film follows eight philosophers as they talk about provocative philosophical questions. “It takes tremendous discipline, it takes tremendous courage to think for yourself,” Cornel West says at the beginning of the preview. Intrigued, I looked into where it was playing. It will be shown in only three upstate New York theaters, and one of them is the Cornell Cinema.

Think of a bra. Think of the last one you saw, whether it was in your own dresser drawer, on someone else or in the media. What did it look like? What did it offer in terms of feel and appearance? Inspired by a conversation with my friend Allison, I took up this seemingly anachronistic feminist topic by abstaining from bra use for a week. In doing so, I confirmed my suspicion that for the most part, bras are a socially prescribed accessory rather than something women actually need.

The recent State of the Union-type stirring from the Obama camp has led me to ponder the state of something else: feminism. But what are the recent feminist milestones, the ones that will one day be read over in the history books and chuckled about as artifacts from a time when we actually needed something like feminism to fight a thing called “social inequality”? Answering that question proved harder than I expected.

In the ultimate conflation of the virgin-whore dichotomy, a 22-year-old Sacramento State grad named Natalie Dylan has put her virginity up for auction. The transaction is taking place through a legal brothel in Nevada, which advertises Dylan’s virginity as a “priceless and rare commodity.” And by “priceless” they actually just mean expensive — the highest bid is reported at $3.8 million. Dylan was first publicized on the Howard Stern Show, and the story has since been picked up by CNN and other major news outlets.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas — or should I say the “holiday season.” This is supposed to be a time for giving presents, but I’ve noticed a need for a different kind of giving. Lots of people I know are not feeling so cheery, and no new scarf or scented candle is going to help that. So – here comes the sap, oozing out like I tapped a maple tree in springtime – I’d like to argue for giving what you can’t buy, like kindness and love and friendship, which are much more valuable than anything advertised on television. No, the recession is not the inspiration for this, although if financial strains get more people on board, then so be it.

Naked has been on my mind lately. Firstly, because the blustery days of winter have come, bringing with them streaking season. And secondly because Playgirl, women’s first answer to men’s pornography, has folded. I would mourn, but this supposed bastion of women’s nudie mags has always puzzled me. It was founded as a feminist response to Playboy, but it is an uncreative one. It mimics rather than invents, as if to say that women like making people into sex objects just as much as men. Nudity, re-imagined by feminists, should speak from women’s experiences and also subvert the patriarchal power structure. As we all know, Naked happens in more than just porn. Naked reveals itself in mainstream popular culture, dance, and daily life.

“Sorry, this is probably wrong but . . .”

“Sorry, I’m not sure if this is what you mean . . .”

“Oh! Sorry!”

If you have heard any of those phrases lately, chances are they came out of a woman’s mouth. A lot of women at Cornell, myself included, are too quick to apologize. Ever since I noticed it, I try to check myself before I say sorry. What am I sorry for? Often I should instead be saying excuse me, or nothing at all. After diminishing my use of the S-word, I have noticed considerable improvements in my overall self-esteem and a stronger sense of self. This does not exactly put me alongside the likes of Eleanor Roosevelt and Pink in the big leagues of female self-confidence, but it’s a start.